


How Do I Kill Thee, Let Me Count The Ways

by Akumokagetsu



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dark, Depression, Drinking, Drug Abuse, F/F, F/M, Other, Paranoia, Recovery, Schizophrenia, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-08-21 00:25:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16566044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumokagetsu/pseuds/Akumokagetsu
Summary: Some people can only be pushed so far before they begin to push back.Trauma can do some pretty terrible things to the body, to the soul. To the mind.Sometimes, applying too much pressure can cause the mind to crack. Just like the soul, just like the body, it can be healed...But sometimes, things crawl out of the cracks and crevices, the dark places.Be wary of gazing into the abyss.You never really know what's going to come slithering out after you.





	1. Chapter 1

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**Name the fallen human.**

…

[Frisk.]

**Are you sure? This will make your life living hell.**

 

 

 

 

 

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“So... how many more times are you going to try this?”

 

Frisk was unresponsive as they sat with their back to the sturdy door, cool stone chilled further by frigid winds buffeting the opposite side. The tiny golden flower perched on his stem stared at them with a plain, practiced smile, but Frisk knew better by this point. It was just as hollow and empty as he was. Their thin arms tightened around their knees, snowflakes whispering from beyond the magically reinforced massive stone doors. They could still feel the snowbank that they had been most recently tossed into, uncaring cold biting down on their exposed flesh with every new introduction.

 

But that was okay. Sometimes it got warm in the snow, if you painted it red enough.

 

“Uh. Hello? I'm _talking_ to you,” Flowey reiterated, the friendly demeanor dropping from his face as he stared at the human in irritation. He jabbed a thorny vine from the ground and smacked their head up by the chin, forcing Frisk to look at him. Unsurprisingly, they still held that blank, expressionless look through thin dead eyes, seeing and unresponsive almost in entirely. After a moment's pause Flowey gave a _tch_ and pulled away, glowering at them.

 

“You realize that he's not going to stop, right?” he informed them quietly. That seemed to get their attention, even if momentarily. Frisk pulled tighter into their ragged, thin striped sweater, a minuscule whimper escaping their lips. “You need to get it through your thick head. You'll die and you'll die and you'll die. This is what _happens_ when you meet a _remorseless killer._ ”  
Flowey waited for them to respond, leaning up from his wiry stem and wriggling his leaves in distaste before smacking them in the side of the head to get their attention. Granted, not as hard as before, but it wasn't like he _cared._ It just wasn't worth expending the effort on a soon to be corpse. 

 

“Look, my little monarch...” he lowered his voice carefully, slithering underground and reappearing beside them, though the sharp look was long gone from his features, leaving only the mildly irritated, bleak expression. “Human. _Frisk._ It doesn't matter how many times you try. He is never – _ever –_ going to stop.”  
“It's okay,” the child whispered so meekly that they were barely heard, even in the silent stillness of the chamber. “It's... it's really alright. He deserves to be angry.”  
“Yeah, well, maybe you deserve to go at least five minutes without dying,” he retorted with a wry frown, glancing away. It was quiet for a moment longer before he flinched at the gentle touch of the human, a soft pat atop his petals confusing him.

“I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me,” Frisk tittered softly, causing him to blink before scowling deeply.

“Don't get used to it,” he spat viciously, yanking himself away as they tried to continue – eurgh, _petting_ him – though they seemed not to mind nearly as much as he did. “I'm not doing it for _you_ , moron. I'm doing it because the resets are starting to get on my _nerves._ ”

 

Frisk mumbled a pitiful apology before drawing their torn sweater tighter, knees pulled tightly to their chest. Flowey stared at them before groaning in disgust, giving them a look that could only be described as ' _ew'_ .

“Stop that,” Flowey stared before forcing another tiny smile. “Just look at it this way! The sooner that you stop coming _back_ , the sooner that _I_ can reclaim the rightful throne of my world, and you won't have to worry about any of this silly business anymore. Right?”

Frisk didn't seem to have a response to that. Flowey remained silent with the plastered grin for several long moments before finally dropping it with an exasperated groan, rolling his eyes and extending his stem in a burst to make himself eye level with them. He half expected them to jump – the first time he had done that the stupid human had actually  _screamed_ , stars above were they all this easy to startle? But this time it was like they'd barely even noticed when he forcibly grabbed their limp head with his vines, urging them to look right at him. Still they would not comply, still they would not meet his gaze, but at least they finally started to do something other than shake and rock back and forth. So... progress. Depending on the definition.

 

“ _Look,_ ” Flowey bit his tongue, trying – actually _trying_ this time – to keep from sending the human into another hysterical fit that would most likely end the same as the others, letting out a low sigh through his sharp fangs as he tried to find the best way to emphasize his message. “We both know what the results are going to be. Pretty damn good odds. So just let me ask... why do you keep doing the same thing and expecting different results? Because that's what you're doing. What you've _been_ doing. What on earth makes you even _think_ that he's not going to just come right through that door and end it before you have a chance to start again?”

“He won't,” Frisk answered in an... unexpectedly tender tone, their lips turned upward ever so slightly in a sad, knowing smile. “He... likes to draw it out. He could hunt for me, y-yeah... but he'd rather make me come to him.”

“And why do you think that is?” he stared across at the shivering human, his faint irritation replaced with something that he couldn't quite identify. “When he found out about what I could do, do you have any idea – even the slightest _inkling_ – of the godawful things he _did_ to me?”  
“He won't keep going forever,” Frisk answered in a tone that clearly belied their lack of confidence in their own confirmation. “H-he, he's just a-angry is all. And it's my fault anyway, s-so it's okay if – I mean, it's okay. Really,” they insisted a bit too forcefully. Flowey's only response was not so much an answer as it was an unamused, deadpan stare.

 

“... You think that you can make it,” he stated calmly as the human started to rise and he dug down to burrow through the earth, resurfacing beside them as they rested their palms on the cold stone door. “You think that, for some unbelievably _stupid_ reason, that you can either get past him, or talk him down, or... or, I don't know, _change_ him or something.”  
Frisk didn't answer, but their head did tilt downward slightly, hair covering their eyes.

“But you're wrong. You're wrong,” Flowey's tone wasn't nearly quite so harsh as it had been the last... ' _few_ ' resets. “You are wrong. You don't know what you're dealing with. You. Are going. To _die._ Don't you get it yet?” he started to raise himself up on his extended stem before Frisk started pushing the heavy, gargantuan door ever so slowly outward, frozen flurries of ice and powder dancing in through the crevice. “You can't just get _through_ to him. He's making you come to him, and you _know_ why, Frisk. It isn't because he thinks it's some kind of way to relay a message about how much of a _fuckup_ you are, it's because he's _sick_. It was _never_ about you 'being a good person,” Flowey's tone was faster the harder they shoved against the massive double doors, the delta rune splitting in half as they did so. If Frisk didn't know any better, they'd have thought that he almost sounded... _panicked._

 

“It's about making a change,” Frisk stated calmly, despite the shift of bitter chill that battered them the further they opened the door, leaving barely just enough room to slip through the crack. 

“It's about making you _suffer._ ”

Flowey was, admittedly, slightly surprised that Frisk gave pause to that. He took his opportunity.

He'd lost enough of them as is.

 

“Even if you somehow manage to not bleed out all over the ground this time,” he started carefully, trying to frame his words in a manner that he hoped would actually get through to them. “Which you will, by the way, blood loss seems to be a recurring theme this last few – that doesn't mean it's going to _stop_ , Frisk.”  
“... I know.”  
“You _know?_ ” he scoffed sharply, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he swiveled around to jolt up through the ground, suspended upon his stem and glowering into their eyes. “You know, do you? But you're still going to keep throwing yourself face first into the bone blender? For _what,_ shits and _giggles?_ ”  
“Because at least _one_ person has to do the right thing,” Frisk spoke calmly, softly, but their voice carried, even through the slithering, lashing wind. 

“You think _this_.... that _this_ is doing the right thing? You call that _smart_?” Flowey pulled away after a painfully long moment, staring at them in confusion, disgust, irritation.

In what might have almost been empathy, if they both didn't know better.

 

And yet again, Frisk surprised him, letting out a calm, quiet and careful titter, shaking their head as they braced themselves against the cold, pulling their sweater tighter.

“... The right thing,” Flowey tutted, shaking his petals before glancing back up at them. They were already starting away. Like they couldn't even wait a single moment. “I mean, for _god's sake,_ Frisk, it's not even a _fight_ anymore. It's only going to get _worse_. So what do you call _that_? Huh? What – do you call – _that?_ ”

“... Penance,” was the only reply he got, a simple shrug of the shoulder as they swiveled on the spot and marched toward that dreaded bridge. He stared after them for the longest time, watching as they trudged weakly but steadily through the snow, onward in a single minded, unwavering determination that would have frightened lesser creatures.

Flowey let out a quiet sigh, what felt like the millionth. 

 

He gave up halfway calling out to them, instead curling up and withdrawing further into the ruins, though not so far that he would wind up alerting  _her._

And besides.

 

No need to go getting caught in the crossfire again. 

 

 

 

 

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	2. Chapter 2

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“ _You really just can't help yourself, can you?”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wrapped in their thin sweater, Frisk only stared down at their feet, knees drawn up all the way inside their striped shirt as they tried to hug squeeze their arms tighter for warmth. It didn't seem to help much with the shivering, Flowey could tell that much easily. But then again, maybe it wasn't entirely from the cold. They hadn't bothered to move from the door this time, always going back to the same location.

 

“So was I right, or was I right?” Flowey tittered smugly. “You're beating your head against a _wall_ here.”

Frisk responded by silently thumping the back of their head against the smooth stone a few times, not even bothering to blink as they leveled an emotionless look at him. Flowey seemed, as per usual, unamused.

 

“Have to psych yourself up for more mindless stupidity?” he gave Frisk a wide smile, bouncing on his stem a little. “Just look at it this way; the more often you keep doing the same thing, the faster he's going to get _bored._ ”

“Which means that he's getting closer to stopping,” Frisk whispered hopefully.

“Which means he's getting closer to making it _worse,_ ” Flowey pointed out. “He isn't going to just get bored and _give up_ – he's going to get bored, and when he does he's going to start changing more and more things to make it fun. Trust me,” he added, wilting slightly as he glowered at the ground. “... I'd know.”

“I'm getting through to him,” they said a little more loudly, shivering again despite themself. “I'm getting through.”

“Oh, is _that_ what you call it?” he spat sardonically. “You aren't going to solve anything by pretending that you didn't _hear_ me. _Frisk.”_

Frisk let out a miserable noise and curled up tighter, face buried in their knees. Flowey remained still in a silent stare for a while before eventually letting out a  _tch_ and straightening up on his stem. He drew a vine up through the earth and jabbed Frisk in the side with the tip, making them wiggle momentarily. 

 

“We just have to keep trying,” Frisk murmured eventually, pulling their head up and wiping their eyes with their sleeve. 

“We?” Flowey scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh please. There is no _we_ in this, just you, for some _stupid_ reason, thinking that unthinking repetition is going to bring about change. Just. Give. Up.”

“It's not hopeless,” they shrugged simply. Frisk took in a deep, slow breath as Flowey reprimanded them.

“It _pretty much is,_ ” he insisted. “Are you even still keeping count at this point?”  
“I stopped counting with you after a while,” Frisk glanced over at him just in time to see him flinch, actually _flinch_ backwards for only a brief moment. “It's not like everything is bad, Asriel-”

Thin ribbons of vine  _ripped_ out of the earth, snagging Frisk around the throat and slamming them hard into the stone wall, dragging them steadily upward as Flowey glowered hatefully at them.

“What. Did I _tell_ you. About calling me that,” his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Frisk didn't even blink.

 

“I'd really appreciate it if you didn't kill me right now,” they managed to wheeze, prying weakly at the vines around their neck like a spiky scarf. “He j-just gets angrier if I die without permission.”

Flowey, to his credit, did pause for a moment, simply staring at Frisk with an unreadable expression. His mouth carved downward in a jagged scowl after a painfully long stretch of silence, his eyes steadily narrowing into beady sharp dots before eventually, slowly, finally releasing his grip on Frisk and watching them drop limply to the ground. Frisk hacked and coughed desperately for air, the thick beads of crimson wiped away from their neck with the back of their arm.

 

“Thanks,” Frisk cleared their throat as they shivered, pushing themself to their feet.

“Of _course_ you'd _thank me_ ,” Flowey rolled his eyes again, for all the world looking like the very portrayal of disgust. He blinked when he realized that Frisk was already headed away again, trudging solemnly back towards the heavy stone doors at the end of the corridor. “H-hey – hey! Where do you think you're going?”

“To go give you more reasons to call me names?” Frisk answered with an almost _teasing_ shrug, turning slightly to see him. Flowey had resurfaced near them yet again, always keeping just a bit of space between them. Not quite nearly so much as he had previously, Frisk quietly noted, but was wise enough to keep that in their head. 

“As if I need a reason,” he smirked emptily. The smile slowly dripped from his face as the odd pair stared at each other, both unmoving, the only sound the hollow, muffled whisper of promised cold knocking behind the looming doors. 

 

“... Just stop this,” Flowey said as they began to turn away, their eyes hidden behind an unruly mop of hair. “Just-just admit that it's stupid. Give up. Or-” he jerked forward a little as Frisk continued, and he burrowed swiftly through the ground to catch up, popping from the ground barely a foot away from them as they stood at the door. “-okay, _fine_ , you don't have to, _I'll_ admit it's stupid. That's _sort of_ like me admitting that I was wrong, right?” he gave them his best winning smile.

Frisk did not even turn to him this time, their palm flat against the door. His smile dropped instantly.

 

“Do you have a chip on your shoulder or something?” he inquired quickly. Frisk raised their other hand to the door, drawing in a deep breath and leaning into the stone, face set and eyes heavy. “Do you just have something to _prove_ to yourself? Because it's _stup-_ just _stop for a second!”_ he blurted just as Frisk started to push open the heavy door. Flowey sucked in a sharp breath, just the sound of the intake louder than a gunshot in the empty hall. He seemed to have realized that he was shouting and made a throat clearing sound, pushing up a feeble smile.

 

“We could just... go _back?”_ he offered in a somewhat hopeful tone. “There's no shame in a tactical retreat you know. Take some time to regroup and actually come up with a _plan_ or something?”

“I thought that you said there was no we?” Frisk asked softly, and the flower cringed openly before shivering and looking away.

“I say lots of things I don't mean,” he turned back to them. “Just... I realize that absolutely nothing I say is going to stop you from going through that door.”  
“So take your own advice,” Frisk responded in a low tone as cold as the icy chill forcefully shoving its fingers through the cracked door. “And just give up.”

“... You don't really mean that,” he said after a split second.  
“I say lots of things I don't mean,” Frisk said simply. “... Sorry about that thing I said that one time.”

“You sound even less apologetic than I do,” he deadpanned at them without even hesitating. “Just go die already.”

“Love you too,” Frisk leaned down and patted him on the head. They smiled widely as they stood, taking in another long breath. He hadn't even bitten their hand this time or screamed that he was going to force feed them their own fingers if they tried it again. _Progress._

 

“I want you to know that you're an incompetent imbecile!” he shouted after them, watching the human trudge through thick waves of snow.

“I know!” Frisk turned with the _dumbest_ grin he had seen on their face in a while, giving him double thumbs up. “Guess we have more in common than you thought!”

 

Flowey's response of violent threats laced with colorful adult vernacular went entirely unheard by anyone human.

 

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	3. Chapter 3

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“I swear it's like you're just conditionally designated to stupidity in every aspect of your life choices,” Flowey stared at Frisk as they trudged through the dark hallway. They paused for a moment to glance at him, hands stuffed deep into the sleeves of their sweater.

“See,” they blinked, “The way that you phrased that was super awkward, but I know _exactly_ what you meant.”

 

Frisk let out a puff of breath before dropping to their usual spot against the stone, away from the door a bit and curling their legs up under their ratty sweater. The coughing had finally died down for a few minutes, even though they kept trying to clear their throat and rubbing their neck as if trying to pry something off. Flowey watched them momentarily before slipping under the soil and popping up next to them.

 

“So, was I right, or was I right?”

Frisk didn't respond.  


“I'll take that as a 'yes'. Pay up.”

“Oh, come _on,_ ” Frisk whined, wiggling down against the wall and coughing into their hand at uneven intervals. “It's not even like you need it.”  
“It's not about whether or not I _need_ it,” Flowey said smugly as he took the small bag of clinking coins from Frisk, snagging the pouch and storing it safely underground. “It's not about the money. It's about the 'I told you so'. And for the record, I told you so. Golly, good to know it still feels great to always be right.”

The human's absence of communication grew louder and louder in the hall the longer that he waited.

 

“... Don't you ever get _tired_?” Flowey pried. Frisk responded by drawing in a slow breath through their nostrils, bracing up against the stone and clearing their face of emotion as they steadied their breathing. “I mean, it can't be _easy_ , anything but. So what about resting? When's the last time that you actually slept for more than a few minutes at a time?”

“Since when does it bother you if I sleep or not?” Frisk cracked an eye to glance at him, looking as weary as they sounded. Flowey didn't point out their trembling this time. 

“I _don't_ , obviously,” he snorted, looking away from them for a few seconds before twisting his stamen sharply. “Honestly the harder you try the faster you die. So if you actually get rest you can go keep throwing yourself to your death more quickly, which means the sooner I get rid of you for good.”

“Must take some practice to be that flexible,” Flowey's confusion was plain on his features, steadily dwindling to irritation. “I mean, that's a lot of mental hoops to jump through just to justify yourself.”

“Do you _want_ me to go back to ripping you in half?” he deadpanned at them. “Because I could just as easily do that, you know.”

“I know,” Frisk rasped simply, quiet little smile on their lips. “It's been a while. I'm really proud of you, you know.”

 

Flowey's grimace of absolute disgust could not have been any clearer, though Frisk was either oblivious or chose not to notice, and he wasn't certain which annoyed him more.

 

Frisk tried to speak before hacking pained wheezes into their oversized sweater sleeve, whole body wracked with violent tremors that sent concurrent shivers throughout them. Their breath hitched as they struggled for breath, eventually petering out in their coughing fit as they leaned back against the wall, drawing their arms and legs up as tightly as possible in attempt to suppress the shaking. They clamped a pale hand over their mouth, shoulders bobbing as they fought...  _something_ , Flowey couldn't quite tell what, and the human didn't seem interested on sharing. He watched the odd display in utter silence, keeping quiet even after Frisk had fallen somewhat still, their breathing unheard but appearing labored.

 

Frisk eventually opened their eyes, a little bloodshot and their vision blurry. Rubbing their eyes with their dirty sweater sleeves seemed to help for a second before the stinging in their throat started again, but Frisk was on their feet in a beat anyway. Or at the very least they tried to be, as a quick yank to the back of their shirt dragged them back to the ground, earning a surprised grunt from them.

“Stay put for a second,” Flowey insisted blankly. He withdrew a vine from the hole in the back of their sweater, vanishing into the earth and leaving Frisk in silence.

 

Frisk shifted impatiently, rubbing their forearms together and gripping their fingers together tightly, as if trying to hold their own hand. The shivering intensified yet again the longer that Flowey was gone; sure, he hadn't actually threatened them this time at all, but that wasn't likely to stop him from taking his aggression out on them the next time through. Just because he'd made progress didn't mean he was perfect, but still, just waiting around wasn't something that Frisk was good at. 

They weren't particularly fond of waiting for anything, but who was? Waiting meant more anxiety riddled time weighing down shoulders. Speaking of...

 

Frisk tried rolling their stiff shoulders yet again, fingers slipping up under their sweater to graze over their bare shoulder. They couldn't resist flinching when they expected that unpleasant sensation again, and pressing their fingertip against flesh over and over to  _not_ result in screaming pain always left that strange dissonance in their mind. It was difficult to adjust to. Always was. 

Their chest tightened again when they tried to breathe, body somehow forgetting that it didn't have quite as many holes as it did previously. Frisk struggled to keep calm, they  _had_ to stay calm or they'd wind up overwhelmed again, and they had come too far to let that stop them now. So with enough forceful self squeezing Frisk managed to clamp down their arms over their chest and press into the wall, fighting the urge and shivering again, taking in one shallow breath after another until they finally managed to resume some form of regular breathing.

 

A loud  _er-hem_ elicited a startled squeak from them as they jumped. Flowey only rolled his eyes, shoving the dirt coated bottle that he'd pulled from the ground into Frisk's arms. They stared at him for a full, uncomfortable ten seconds before he finally cleared his throat again.

“I said, er- _hem_ ,” he made the noise more loudly this time, giving Frisk a pointed look. “Er- _hem. ER. HEM._ ”

“Oh!” Frisk blinked finally, smile gradually spreading upwards. “Thank you, Flowey.”

“What?” he stared. “Ugh, no, not that. That awful throat sound you keep making,” Flowey jabbed them in the chest with one protruding vine, popping the cap from the water bottle with the other and pushing it into Frisk again. “Stop it. Stop making that noise. Drink and clear your stupid human body failures out of existence.”

“See,” Frisk took a sip through their grin, staring at him. “The way you phrased that was super awkward but-”  
Flowey reponded by snagging the bottle in one vine and giving it a rough squeeze, water spewing violently. Frisk sputtered and coughed, shaking their head and wheezing as they thumped their chest, dropping onto their knees and struggling to breathe through the water flooding their lungs.

 

“Serves you right,” Flowey said smartly, wiggling back and forth a little. Frisk only shot him an unexpectedly dirty look, wiping their mouth and wet face with equally soaked sleeves. “I'm perfectly gracious and thoughtful and you repay me with more mindless repetition. It _annoys_ me, you _know_ this. You really don't learn at all, do you?”  
“You didn't have to _waterboard_ me,” Frisk harrumphed, letting out another pitiful sounding cough and giving up drying themself, throwing down their now sopping sleeves in aggravation. 

“Just because I don't _have_ to do something doesn't stop me from doing it,” Flowey raised a couple of vines in a shrugging motion. “I mean, I guess I could just keep doing that if it means stalling you from going back out the door. But unlike you,” he drew himself up on his stem, grabbing Frisk sternly by the head with his vines and forcing them to eye level with him. “I don't keep doing the same _stupid goddamn thing_ over and over again.”

“That you know of,” Frisk started. They didn't manage to finish, as the vines had thoroughly constricted around their throat by that point. Flowey _seethed_ quietly, his fangs biting down so hard that a few droplets of odd liquid were beginning to leak from his bottom lip. His head dropped down and when it darted back up a second later, the jagged, too wide smirk with significantly more teeth than he'd had before and the wild, manic eyes locked onto Frisk were enough to ensure their silence.

 

“I'll let you pretend that you're only shaking from the cold,” Flowey said in a practiced, sickly sweet tone, thin ribbons of plant tissue gradually releasing Frisk and letting them drop hard to the ground, where they let out a half grunt from the impact. His face slowly morphed back to his usual appearance, plastic smile glued on and eyes unblinking as always. “You want to _lord it over me_ , how you get to remember more, don't you?”

 

Frisk was seriously beginning to regret letting him in on that little tidbit. He hadn't taken it as well as they'd hoped he would. Granted, he was handling the information a  _lot_ better currently than he had at first. That had been yet another...  _unpleasant_ experience. 

 

“Well?” he smacked them in the back with a vine, causing Frisk to yelp and drag themself to their feet to avoid being hit again. “You aren't answering, so am I to take that as admittance that you're an arrogant elitist?”

“That's not true...” they muttered as they rubbed their back stiffly, hair once again dangling in front of their eyes, head tilted away from him. “I told you that because I thought it w-would help.”

“Or you could be lying,” he said cheerfully as Frisk wrung what little water they could from their shirt before giving up on the prospect altogether. “I remember, Frisk – I remember a _lot_ more than you think I do. The fact that you somehow seem to get to cash in on those few extra timelines doesn't make you any better, doesn't make you smarter or stronger or _better_ than me, understood?”

“Why yes of course,” Frisk responded automatically, making him _tch_ and lash a spiky emerald tendril against the ground before recoiling them all under the earth at once. Frisk had to fight the urge to freeze up, pushing everything they had to look calm. The last time he'd done that had resulted in him making good on quite a few of his more grisly promises. “I mean, come on, A-Flowey,” they corrected themself in stride. “You're smart enough not to be doing the things that I'm doing, so... guess that makes you smarter than me, huh?”

 

Flowey ducked beneath the dirt and reappeared in front of them just as they reached the stone doors, his face set in an unamused glower.

“See, the thing is,” he stared up at them. “I _know_ you're stroking my ego, but you're also completely right.”

“I know,” Frisk answered with more confidence than he liked, which was probably on purpose as well. But their gaze was soft, their smile kind, the knowing little tilt of their head as they looked back at him just as tired and sad as ever. “I'll see you soon.”

 

The door slammed shut from the force of the howling gale, leaving the flower completely alone in the dark. He sighed quietly, the odd, not-quite-a-feeling causing an uncomfortable prickle in the back of his mind. Something sharp, something nostalgic, something that almost resembled a feeling he used to relate to a chest ache. But he'd long since forgotten.

“I know, Frisk...” the flower wilted before long, his petals drained of color and vibrancy, stem creaking from the weight as his forehead grazed the floor. Cold that he couldn't quite feel pulled him lower, darkness that wasn't quite pitch sapped the life from the words he couldn't quite speak.

 

“... Please.. _._ ”

 

 

 

_Please come back._

 

 

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

 

“Never really learn... do ya, kid?”

 

“What?” Frisk shifted from foot to foot before the staring figure. “N-no love for the determined, huh?”

“More like 'stubborn',” the skeleton leaning against the wooden bridge post let out a puff of smoke through his nostril bone, eternal grin stretched too wide across his face. “And don't you worry. Pal. I got _plenty_ of LOVE.”

Frisk chose to stay quiet and simply nodded once, hands wrapped up in their sleeves as tightly as they could, the wet cloth already beginning to freeze from the snowy chill. Barely taller than they were, Sans drew the cigarette from his teeth and let a foul smelling cloud roll over them. Frisk's coughing fit resumed instantly, though they tried to hide the desperate wheezing behind their hands. Sans only stared at them for a while, the brightly glimmering eye lights narrowed to pinpricks. 

 

“Oh, gee, sorry there pal,” Sans grinned, sounding without an ounce of remorse, ash dancing from the tip of his cigarette and sizzling into the snow underfoot. “Ya know if the smoke bothers you that much you could'a just said somethin'. Unless you'd like ta share?” he flipped the cancer stick through his phalanges expertly toward them with a smirk. “In which case, you can suck my butt.”

Frisk offered up a weak titter as he pulled the awful smelling stogie back to his endless joy deprived smile, smoke cloud billowing around his head like the murky forgotten storm of an ancient dragon's peak.

 

“What?” Sans continued to stare at them. “You just gonna stand there and stare at me the whole time? Makes my skin crawl, y'know?”

“Not a bad joke,” Frisk managed to say through their stutters. “I'd say give me some skin for that one, but you don't seem to have any.”

Sans threw his head back and laughed, burst of smoke and ash dusting away from him like an involuntary explosion, typhooned by his outburst of high, hysterical, mad cackling before it all suddenly cut short, his head  _snapping_ back forward so loudly that the crack could have been heard for half a mile.

 

“You seem ta have some extra skin though,” the leering, manic mockery of a smile that fell upon Frisk landed like a sack of stones, their stomach sinking swiftly as they resisted the urge to backstep from the outstretched skeletal hand. Frisk knew better at this point than to try that. Running would only make it worse. “Quite a bit, actually...”

 

 

“ ** _Give it to me._ ”**

 

But somehow or another, it would always, always get worse.

 

Phalanges danced across their cheek in an undecipherable rhythm, music of flesh and bone pirouetting together over the silent drumbeat of falling snow. Frisk did their best not to flinch, not to move, not to so much as breathe despite the hammering in their chest, Sans falling still as the grave opposite them. Gradually, eventually, ever so slowly, Frisk dared to carefully inch their trembling hand upwards to touch the back of his knuckles with their hopeful fingertips; they were rewarded with a violent backhand from the other side that left the whole world ringing and spinning into a snowdrift. Frisk's first instinct was to flitter and struggle in the snow in desperate attempt to regain balance. They regretted their split second decision a bit too late, the forceful reminder of a mouthful of coppery earth a painfully clear indication that this was not going quite as they had planned. 

 

“It's not like I'm askin' for _much_ from you,” Sans lazily dragged his feet through the snow as Frisk pulled their whole body up just long enough to see his hand twitch out of his jacket pocket. The world shifted yet again as they were _flung_ hard through the air, the familiar tightness in their soul as they were bounced from earth to air and back again, bounced like a sweater laden ball. Frisk tasted blood in their mouth, felt it leaking from their nostril and it was impossible to hear anything but ringing in one ear. They hadn't even noticed when Sans had stopped ricocheting them in a telekinetic grip. 

 

Sans might have been talking, but Frisk couldn't really make out what he was saying. They spotted blurry splotches of red across the snow when their head was jerked up, phalanges tangled in their hair. They hardly felt the shaking that they were being given. It almost felt like something inside their head was rattling. Was that where all that blood was coming from? Huh. It almost looked like a smiley face painted on the ground from this angle. Kind of nice.

 

Frisk was face first in the thick crimson dashed powder, though when it had happened they weren't entirely sure of either. Blacking out for a little while seemed to be something that happened more and more frequently lately. Maybe Flowey was right about needing more rest? How long had it actually been since they'd rested? A nice, soft warm bed sounded so lovely right about now. Just like that one from such a long time ago, with a large comforter, a plushy pillow. Even a pleasant piping slice of pie. It all felt like ages ago.

 

“I don't remember giving you _permission_ to take a nap, did I?”

Frisk's head might have felt a bit foggy but they definitely felt the rapid  _kick_ to the ribs, their stammered apology going unsurprisingly unrecognized. The sharp intake of breath was barely formed before they felt the swift grab of a skeletal fist around their throat. Strangling grip aside, Sans looked just as calm and relaxed as ever, the same cigarette still dangling from his teeth limply, wide smile still plastered on like he wasn't currently choking the life out of Frisk. They didn't have to look at their soul to know he still had it swarmed in a magical blue sheen.

 

“Man,” Sans shook his head, though not nearly as hard as the shake that he gave Frisk. “I try askin' some polite questions and ya won't even answer. Just not much of a talker this time around, huh kid?”

Frisk pertly answered by bubbling a thin stream of scarlet from between their lips. Sans only stared at them with that blank, empty smile, the edges of his eye sockets crinkling ever so slightly as he began to raise Frisk up an inch at a time. Crackling with energy, partially formed bone snapped into existence in the air around them, jagged points summoned in a semicircle around Frisk. 

 

After all the time spent trying, all the mind numbing, exhausting resets, all of the countless deaths, Frisk had made the assumption that they'd seen the extent of Sans's expressions by now. However, the last few words they'd managed to choke out even through the excruciating piercings that had turned them into a human pincushion seemed to have at least gotten his attention. Sans could only stare at the questioning human as they were at last allowed to collapse into the snow, landing on their side, but no matter how they fell every angle was a bad one. But Frisk held onto their weak smile regardless, the darkness creeping in at the corners of their vision held off for just a moment longer by seeing that nasty smelling smoke stick escaping to the confines of the powdered snow. Sans was standing over them at some point, Frisk knew – maybe not through sight, but they felt him nearby, almost like their was a soft touch on the top of their head as the searing pain ebbed away. And it hadn't even been nearly as bad this time, so that was a plus. But maybe that was in part due to the look of shock that had bolted onto his face. Frisk let go of the thought, and just about everything else as they slipped into the comfortable dark.

 

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

How often they'd found themselves standing at that same impasse. 

 

Cold wind through cold bone, human and dust; it didn't really matter whether or not they had it this time. It was always there, always there, always there-

 

“You... serious about what ya said?”

Frisk answered with a wordless nod, arms clenched tightly to their sides and shivering despite themself. They tried their best to keep their teeth from clattering, eyes downcast and head kept locked at an angle to keep from even appearing to move too quickly. He hated that, Frisk knew. So it was best to remain as stationary as possible. It helped to delay the inevitable. 

 

“And you realize that even if I _agree_ to somethin' that stupid and inane, it ain't nothin' but a one time thing, right?”

Frisk nodded once more, slowly and carefully. They couldn't fight down a flinch when the single finger bone tipped their face up by the chin, dangerously sharp eye lights zeroed in onto their wide, panic stricken orbs. Sans didn't move aside from that, simply holding them in place with no more than a single fingertip, the eternal grin crawling on his face for the first time in a long time looking genuinely, ever so slightly amused. More than that, his eye sockets narrowed with a heat in them, the unexpected interested,  _steaming_ look he was giving them was throwing them off, but Frisk wasn't going to be caught off guard just by the low chuckles. They could do just as well, and reiterated this inside their head that it would be easier if circumstances were different. Frisk dared to match his smirk with a tiny hopeful smile of their own, their heart bouncing just a little. Frightening, dangerous hope.

 

“Heh. Well. Alright then.”

 

 

Frisk felt the blaster before they heard it.

 

 

“... _Let's go on a date._ ”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

** DATING... **

**... **

** START? **

 


	4. Only One

0-0-0-0-0

 

 

 

“Frisk, I want to stress that I can only iterate this a limited number of varied times, but what in the gosh dang diddly darn fiddly _fuck_ is wrong with you.”

 

“... Would you be surprised if I said 'a lot'?”

 

There was a mildly annoying wind at the back of Frisk's head. Or maybe that was just the vicious swats that Flowey was giving them as they continued down the dusty hall without breaking stride. Flowey's irritation was plain on his face, his petals rumpled just as sharply downward as his jagged scowl. He resurfaced each time that Frisk got too far away from him to hear, and he continued his angry tirade at as even a pace as he could manage without shouting to be heard.

 

“I swear, Frisk,” he rolled his beady eyes as he burst up through the dirt a few feet away, watching the human continuously pace with their trembling arms clamped to their sides like a vice. “Just when I think that you can't get any more suicidal, just when I think you couldn't _possibly_ be any stupider than you already are, you go and pull something like _this,_ ” Flowey's blatant disgust went relatively unregistered, and his aggravated seething was dragged along with him every time he resurfaced to continually face Frisk. “Don't get me wrong, not that watching you die isn't just the _dandiest fun_ , but don't you think this is a little too far, even for you?”  
“I did this to him,” Frisk stuttered simply, struggling to keep their teeth from clattering as they reached the end of the hall and spun without pause to continue their walk. “It's my fault. And besides, it's just a date.”  
“It's _insane,”_ Flowey sputtered in disbelief. “For god's _sake_ , Frisk!”

 

Frisk didn't seem to answer, even when Flowey darted out of the ground directly in front of them, suspended on a large thick vine to give himself added height to the point that he was several heads higher. His eyes were narrowed sharply and his expression both weary and furious, lips peeled back in a snarl.

 

“I am _talking_ to you!” he lunged forward sharply, and Frisk barely managed to resist the urge to flinch backwards. It wasn't a good idea to show weakness to someone like Flowey when he was in one of these kinds of moods. Frisk had made that mistake before. Funny how many pieces a human could be in before they finally expired. But they had learned from that mistake, and it was okay to make mistakes so long as one learned from them; and besides, Flowey had stopped eventually, so it was all worth it in the end. Granted, Flowey had never necessarily admitted that he had been making a mistake throughout all of his excessively sadistic tirades, but that didn't mean that he never would. Frisk just had to be patient is all, they were sure of it.

 

“ _Frisk,_ ” Flowey shouted, bringing a couple of slim vines up next to their head and _snapping_ them, making them jitter reflexively. “Hey- _hey,_ ” the scowl slowly slipped from his face, his expression clearing as he stared at them with a slight tilt to his head. “God, Frisk, stop making that face. It's.... it's freaking me out. Okay?”

“What do you mean?” Frisk responded quietly, feeling ever so slightly off kilter. Like the floor was gently skewed, gravity pulling at a strange angle. That did happen sometimes, that was okay, so long as Frisk managed to keep their balance then it was fine. Maybe that was the result of gravity being forcibly altered and reversed on them with such frequency, they couldn't really be sure. Maybe Sans would know the answer. He did seem to have quite a few answers to strange things, even if he wasn't always in the mood to talk. There again was that little niggling sensation that the world was tilting, pulling them gently aside into the wall. Either that or the wall was moving to catch them before they hit the ground.

 

Or maybe that was because of the numerous thorny vines wrapped around their body slamming them repeatedly into the stone. Who knew, it could be anything at this point.

 

The stone reintroduced itself like a nervous wallflower at a crowded party; rapidly, quietly, and quickly half forgotten despite multiple meetings.

 

“You need to snap the _hell_ out of it!” Flowey's screech sounded muffled in the dark hall. Frisk wondered momentarily how long he had been on the wall before realizing that they were the one pinned to the cold stone, the tilted world shifting again as they hit the ground. The flower was nearly spitting as he loomed over their unmoving form. “Frisk – hey, _look_ at me,” a vine bolted out of the ground. Unexpectedly, Frisk felt themselves tipped and pushed up from the ground in an almost cushioning embrace of plant matter. Quite a pleasant change of pace from being flung around like a rag doll, and equally unprepared for. Their stilted thoughts recalled the flower trying to keep their head still to force them to meet his gaze. Had he been saying something? It was hard to tell over the noise in their ears.

 

“... Can you focus?” Flowey asked a little more loudly. Perhaps he had been asking several times and Frisk just hadn't noticed, but the words were bouncing in their head more than usual. “Frisk. Can. You. Focus?”

“Yes?” Frisk responded somewhat blearily.

“Good,” Flowey nodded once, never dropping his gaze. “Have you snapped out of it yet?”  
“Snapped out of what?” they stared blankly.

“For _fuck's sa-_ look,” he gritted his teeth, lowering them a little more to the ground with, yet again, surprising gentleness. “I know this is important to you and all, but I need you to listen to me, I am _sick_ to _death_ of repeating myself. Do you understand?”  
Frisk could only nod weakly.

 

“Good,” he actually seemed a little relieved, the strange tension in his face vanishing along with the vines that had been wrapped around Frisk. “At least you can quit thrashing for a few seconds. You,” he lifted a vine again from the earth, this one free of spikes and jabbed it into their chest. “You are worn thin, I _know_ what it looks like, Frisk. You aren't going outside.”

“But I have to go on a date-” Frisk's own words sounded like water in their ears.

“Yes okay yeah sure _fine,_ ” he interrupted swiftly, thin brows narrowing. “You can go on your stupid date. You don't want to look like garbage for your date though, do you?”

 

Again Flowey's words rang in their head, bouncing back and forth over and over until they clashed into each other and echoed across the expanse of jumbled thoughts. Most prominently, however, was just how furious Sans would be if Frisk showed up for a date without putting in effort. Would he be angry? Would he just not care? If Frisk looked like they didn't care then maybe it would seem disingenuous and it would only result in further p-

 

“ _Frisk._ ”

 

They jolted out of their reverie, resisting the urge to rub their aching eyes.

 

“Sorry, yes?” Frisk barely stifled a yawn.

“So you _enjoy_ looking like trash.”

“Wh- no!” Frisk shook their head, the buzzing in the back of their mind slowly ebbing. “I-I don't-”  
“Okay _great,_ ” Flowey continued. “So here's what's going to happen. You're going to go take a nap, and when you're done you can get washed up and ready for your – _urghhhh._ Your _'date'_.”

“You don't have to sound so disgusted,” they couldn't help but smile softly. How long had they been sitting against this wall? Frisk didn't even remember sitting down. Strange. Maybe it had something to do with the awful throbbing in their head. At least they weren't making an inconvenient mess this time, that was nice. “Haven't you ever been on a date, Flowey?”  
“More than you could possibly count,” he deadpanned. “But considering your particular level of intelligence, maybe it's not that high after all.”

“ _Oh!_ ” Frisk threw up an arm to their head, letting out a faux gasp of shock. “How could you inflict such grievous wounds to my pride? I thought we were best _friends!_ ”

 

Frisk knew that they'd made a mistake a bare moment later. Not that Flowey reacted in anger. He didn't react, not at all. Frisk bit their bottom lip and swallowed dryly, meeting the blank, empty, dead eyed stare that the flower gave them. Flowey didn't move, didn't speak, didn't blink. He just stared and stared and stared.

 

“... Get up, Frisk.”

Frisk obeyed nervously, hiding their hands in the sleeves of their sweater before Flowey vanished underground. The rustling earth stilled quickly and Frisk glanced back and forth, interlocking their fingers together in attempt to still the constant shaking. But Flowey wasn't returning, he hadn't resurfaced. It was absolutely silent in the hall, even the faint falling dust motes in the air fearing to whisper. Frisk strained to speak, their throat suddenly clenching tightly. The sharp pain in their chest returned with a vengeance, and the hand clamped over their heart did nothing to alleviate the wringing awful tension, the stuffiness of the thick air becoming harder and harder to breathe-

 

“Will you _move_ already?”

 

Frisk jolted hard at the sound of Flowey's voice, leg pulled up instinctively as they glanced down at him. He just deadpanned and nodded toward the end of the hall, where the stairs leading upward called silently. Frisk nodded once and forced a weak smile, pushing themself onward as the pressure ever so slightly decreased. Sure, a nap sounded so lovely right about now...

 

But going back there wouldn't be an easy matter, and they both knew it.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 

 

“I can't.”

“Yes you can. Shut up and close your eyes. I already told you I'd keep watch.”

“It hurts.”

“No it doesn't, you're fine.”

“I can't sleep, Flowey.”

“That's because you're still talking now _shut up and sleep,_ ” he hissed, face protruding up from the floorboards. Frisk rubbed their eyes tiredly, pulling the thick blanket up a little tighter. But every time they closed their eyes it felt like it got harder and harder. Different images, same result. Frisk squeezed their eyes shut tightly upon seeing the glare from Flowey beside the little bed, making an earnest attempt to keep as still as possible, trying only to focus on the warmth of the bed and the softness of the pillow. And the faint, possibly imaginary scent of pie was nice and made their heart twinge painfully at the same time. Frisk tried, really honestly tried to follow Flowey's advice, steadying their breathing to the best of their ability. And then it all came rushing back in no matter how hard they tried to fight the endless tide, their eyes snapping back open in a quivering thousand yard bloodshot stare. Like they could still see the awful mess in the other room through the wall.

 

“Go to _sleep_!” Flowey shouted. Frisk recoiled and tried to back into the wall to no avail. “I mean, for crying out loud, Frisk! Why aren't you sleeping yet?”

“Who wouldn't sleep easy with a shouting flower two inches from their face?” Frisk muttered quietly, fighting again to close their weary eyes.

“Don't you give me sass! I could smother you in your sleep if I wanted to-!”

 

Frisk was no longer answering. Their breathing was slow and their figure slumped at long last, even more so than usual. Flowey started to yell at them again just to make them jump in fear, or maybe slap them around the head a few times to encourage them to try harder for sleep next time. He let out an aggravated sigh instead, withdrawing the pair of vines he'd intended to slap them stupid with, opting to simply stare over them for a while. Their normally determined expression had faded when the exhaustion overtook them, their constantly furrowed brows no longer creased in constant focus. For the first time in a long, long while, Frisk actually looked somewhat... peaceful. Flowey _tch'd_ and rolled his eyes, glancing back and forth around the old empty room a couple of times, past the dusty toy chest to the worn wardrobe, to the empty plate that had been carelessly left under the side of the bed. Odd how such stupid, worthless things like this could sometimes make that almost-yet-not-quite a feeling glimmer in the back of his mind. He shook it off, returning his gaze to the underfed sleeping human curled up in a slightly shivering bundle on the bed.

 

Flowey let out a tiny noise through his teeth before using a vine to slowly, silently, softly pull the blankets up around Frisk and tuck them in before he vanished yet again into the earth.

 

Maybe it didn't matter if he kept some stupid promise. Maybe it didn't really matter much if he kept watch or not.

 

He knew he wasn't necessarily the only one.

 

0-0-0-0-0

 


End file.
